


Double Crossed

by Control_Room, Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood, Mentioned Cannibalism, Mentioned Physical Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Silvestro Tries Selling Rumors But Finds Jo Too Hot Ang Gets Fucked Up: The Movie, Spying, Swearing, Violence, fleischer and disney can suck my di
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: A despicable man tries to dig up dirt on the owner of Joey Drew Studios, just for a bit of cash.It doesn't go as he would have planned.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	Double Crossed

Silvestro had a specific type of way to walk. His gait was smooth, slow, and all (far too) important. It was the kind of walk that makes one’s hands itch terribly as soon as he came in their line of sight, barely resisting the urge to slap him across the face to wipe it clean of its damn cockiness. He knew very well who he was - the best, most handsome, most perfect person in the whole damn world. Sure, he might have worked for someone; but that someone wore a stupid, ugly, misshapen mask, hiding himself from fame. What kind of fool would do such a thing? Resist the limelight so violently?

(An example came to mind, and he gave a single, loud, contemptuous laugh. Birds of a feather, weren’t they, the weirdos and outcasts of the world? Although he had to thank his brother’s choice. At least, his wonderful face would have never been associated with a monstrous creep of his caliber.)

Silvestro decided that he wore a mask to hide his vile face - he had seen Mr. Joey Drew slip white gloves onto dark hands, marred with heavy scarring. It seemed likely to Silvestro that those scars were all over his “boss”’s face as well. And the pin on his chest solidified that - he was afraid. Silvestro almost laughed as he walked home. How could that poor, nervous, and gay fool not be terrified? Silvestro knew about the death threats as much as anyone else did, but he also knew that Joey could care less about them.

He was a walking paradox, Silvestro decided. So scared, yet fearless.

Naive.

A car pulled up beside him.

“Silvestro Anges?” a low, dangerous voice spoke to him from the window of it, the being wearing dark sunglasses. “We have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow. His blue eyes evaluated his interlocutor, and concluded that he was far better than anybody that might have been. “You don’t really think I will just accept anything from the first who comes by, do you now?”

“Sir, I’m certain you’d like to hear this one,” the person said, covertly showing him a stack of money. “This is… very important.”

Silvestro spared the dollars a quick disgusted glance: “That is the best you can do?” he mocked, lips rising in a joyless smirk.

Might have not been a prostitute, the agent thought increasingly angrily, but God if he wasn’t one expensive bitch. 

“If your eminence would please let me give him a lift,” they hissed through gritted teeth, “We might just find a compromise.”

Finally. Someone who addressed him rightfully.

Silvestro opened the car door unceremoniously and stepped inside.

“So.” he began, “Who wants me?”

“You’ll see soon, your highness,” the agent replied, trying desperately to keep the sarcasm from dripping into their monotone. They pulled up to a fancy looking hotel, and Silvestro was bowed out of the car. “Right this way, my liege. He’s waiting. He’s heard much about you and is very… anticipatory to work with you.”

The smile on Silvestro’s face was beautiful - at least, it looked beautiful, as did his visage and body and whole being. But it wasn’t beautiful, not in the slightest. There was something that must have once been hidden deep within the person that he was, now taking the form of a revolting mucus oozing from his every pore, making his natural beauty slip and melt off his skin. And underneath it remained only a nasty, viscid, annoying, insufferable little man who believed too much in something he wasn’t ever going to be close to being.

They entered a room together, and Silvestro recognized the faces of Disney and his current co conspirer, Fleischer. They both studied him as he sat with self importance, splaying himself with his legs spread far and wide to assert his position in the room as the greatest one there. 

“So, Mr. Anges…” Disney began, and pulled out a briefcase, sorting through a few files. “You work at Joey Drew Studios. I assume you see your boss often. Now, a man of your caliber certainly shouldn’t even be under someone, isn’t that right?”

Silvestro grinned. At last, someone knew who they were talking to. 

“Undoubtedly,” he cooly replied, knowing it was he that should be on top, not Joey. “And?”

“We’d like to help you with that,” Fleischer leaned back, steepling his fingertips. “We can offer you quite a bit of… resources, to get the job done.”

“You want me to do your dirty work for you and kill him?” Silvestro rose an eyebrow and bent forward, making a motion to leave. He might have been a lot of things, but he was not some animator’s hitman. He hated getting his hands dirty as much as anyone else. “I think I’ll decl-”

“Not kill,” Disney interrupted him, looking at him with dark indifference. “Expose.”

For once, Silvestro shut his mouth. His eyebrows rose higher and his eyes widened ever so slightly, intrigued. He leaned back on the chair slowly, a cat contemplating whether to eat the mouse or play ruthlessly with it, head reclined in a silent order to continue. 

“You see, Mr. Anges,” Disney smiled, glad to have his attention. “This Joey Drew is a menace - not a threat or problem, but clearly, if he was known for who he was under the mask, he would obviously lose his status, otherwise why would he hide himself? He must be a villain or bandit beneath it. And so, we’d like to hire you to discover who he is and spread the knowledge to us.”

“And once you have that knowledge?”

“We will drag him into the dirt and make him regret he had ever decided to enter this business.”

Humiliation.

Silvestro’s grin grew wider and wider, face grimacing grotesquely at the thought of Drew’s impending, inescapable misery.

“I see we’ve got a deal.” he chirped, white teeth gleaming malicious from the small space between his parted lips.

* * *

Joey was not at work the next day. Or the one after. Silvestro managed to track down Henry, the elusive secondary owner of the studio, and asked where Joey was. 

“Out,” was the only answer he got, Henry shrugging. “Don’t worry about your checks, though, I know how to sign my name.”

Neither did Bertrum or Cohen answer him, both apparently clueless. 

Silvestro began to think of it as a covert team up against him, and so, one day, he went to work early, thinking that the rest of his coworkers showed up before time, and Joey gave them orders and vanished for the day.

The door of the studio opened noiselessly, and Silvestro put that to the younger twin. Of course that Franks lad would spend extra meticulous time to make sure that each and every door would be silent. Still, in this moment, he was glad about it - he was less likely to be noticed by any of the lunatics that bothered working at that studio. He strutted through halls, finding them all eerily empty, not a soul around. He made his way down to Joey’s office, to check if the man was actually there and secretly leaving orders. He opened the door, expecting to catch him red handed, but found the office completely empty. He frowned. Where could the bastard be?

He grumbled to himself, handsome features now soured by not only that repulsive internal disgustingness, but also annoyance with the situation.

Wandering about the silent and empty halls, he decided to do a bit of exploring. He knew the studio was quite vast, and nearly all of it was designed by Joey. A hint of where said man lived must be hidden in the architecture of the place, and so he began inspecting the area with a hawk’s eye.

Yet he found, to his growing frustration, absolutely nothing.

The building was as plain as Joey was.

It infuriated him, he stalked upstairs to leave, when he suddenly noticed something strange.

Was there always an attic of the studio?

Part of him laughed at the thought, the other found it absurd, and at the same time, it made perfect sense. Where else would useless old things be stored? Of course Joey could not bear to part with anything. Being sentimental felt just pathetic enough to be right for the kind of person he was. Silvestro smiled as he made his way up the ‘extra’ set of stairs, already envisioning what he would find in the rooms above - everything neatly sorted away into little piles, each one hand marked with what they were, carefully and cautiously. And of course, among the mess, there were bound to be traces of Joey Drew’s elusive private life - little forgotten hints nobody thought would ever be found, like letters, cards, anything that might have had an address printed on it. A bountiful chest of treasure awaiting none other than him and him alone.

Like a treasure chest, the door to the attic was locked. He smirked and rolled his eyes at the simple contraption, pulling a filched ring of keys from his pocket, and tested them one by one, and found that not a single one of them fit the lock. Perplexity turned swiftly into anger, and he went down to Lacie’s workstation, snatching a hammer.

At first, he wanted to smash through the whole thing, until he remembered he wanted to keep this covert. As a sentimental old fool, Joey would be bound to check the attic often, and once realizing that it was broken into, he would also understand that his situation was compromised.

So he set to work of carefully removing the door from its hinges, slowly lifting it away when he finished, excited to open up the trove and dive right in, discover all the hidden details of Joey Drew’s life.

But once he actually got into the attic, he found nothing of the sort: instead, his dismayed and stupefied eyes beheld what seemed to be a fully fledged apartment. He recognized a living room, a kitchen, a lunch table, a couch, pictures, flowers. Everywhere he turned he was assaulted by the feeling of having just broken into someone else’s home while they were away, not that he truly minded.

Honestly, he felt rather offended.

What kind of fucking joke was this?

He passed a hand over his eyes, blinked them a couple times, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then looked at his surroundings again. No, he found that he was not dreaming. The attic was a house. And somebody was living there, right above everybody else’s heads.

This felt like something out of a mystery novel, a hidden alcove in plain sight.

He shook his head: well, if this was someone’s apartment, the owner would have left something behind. Now, he thought. Who would be so desperate to sleep above an animation studio? Certainly not some decent fellow, oh, goodness, no. Nobody would stoop so low. Unless of course the ‘decent fellow’ was truly an efferate criminal, hiding under Drew’s wing and roof. Oh, that would have been perfect for Mr. Disney. Or perhaps… Agh, there it was again. That bony, unhealthy, disgusting face with bicolored eyes came to the forefront of his thoughts.

Of course. Of course! Of _course_ Karpos would be the perfect candidate for being found living in some random guy’s basement. Or in their attic, in this case. No wonder he had not seen him often lately.

And wouldn’t you know it, as Silvestro tiptoed through the apartment and into a snugly furnished bedroom, there he was, on a bed far too comfortable for what he deserved, cuddling against another lanky being like the lizards he so disgustingly adored. Revolting.

Silvestro glazed over him, looking for clues.

An eaten bowl of soup on the side table, some papers scattered on the floor-

Then he realized what he had seen and - no no no, he slapped his cheek to wake up fully and checked again.

That was his twin brother, sleeping soundly just underneath the all too fluffy blanket. And next to him was a body, a human body, or at least it looked human, with an arm wrapped around him sweetly and gently and a book on its lap. He was seconds from having a stroke. Masks covered both beings’ faces, both of which were well known for Silvestro.

No way.

It was just so, so impossible, but all the pieces fit into the puzzle like so many intricate knobs and keys, fitting in so perfectly. Of course that gay artist would-

Hold up.

Gay. Brother. NO WAY. NOPE.

He recoiled. His brother. His twin. Gay. Having sex with his boss. Was it contagious? He’d spent more time than he would have liked - oh stop that, you know it isn’t. Gay brother. Gay brother… Well, it made sense. It made perfect sense, actually. He had to be gay, honestly, because Silvestro was the normal one, the perfect one, and he was a horrible mistake of nature full of awful perversions. It made perfect sense. He would have had to teach him a lesson, now that he had found out. The thought of beating his stupid brother senseless calmed Silvestro down a bit, allowing him to consider the situation a little better. Joey Drew, laying on a bed with the crazy handyman. Clearly, this wasn’t a coincidence. Oh no, it wasn’t. This was perfect slander to spread.

‘How could I phrase it?’ he wondered as he peeked at a sliver of Joey’s face that poked out of his mask. It had to be something shocking, something completely and totally demolishing, bringing Joey’s reputation down to the very depths of hell. ‘Let me see….’

Famed animator Joey Drew hires mentally retarded men to have wild sex with them, keeping them around for more.

No, no. That was not quite right, he knew there was a detail off. He inspected the strand of deep blue hair that framed his boss’s dark face from around his mask, and that slender arm around his brother: Joey clearly was not nearly strong enough to deal with that devil of his twin. He couldn’t have possibly forced himself into the damn animal even if he had tried with all of his strength. Ah, no, that was it! He wasn’t the one on top, no, he could never be! He liked the feeling of dick in his ass too much! And who would be better to pound mercilessly into his thin and pathetically weak frame than a mindless savage beast like Karpos?

Oh, it made such perfect sense, and was so good for anyone wanting to ruin the thin animator’s secretive reputation. 

Famed and beloved animator Joey Drew pays mentally retarded men to fuck him mercilessly, then housing them in the attic of his animation studios and keeping them around under the cover of ‘employees’.

No wonder he had trouble walking. Oh, that sounded so good. He smirked, oozing maliciousness as his eyes trailed over what he could see of the man’s sculpted cheekbone, his mask tilted just a bit to keep off of Karpos, so gentle. Absolutely grotesque.

That mask needed to go, both figuratively and literally. As did those damned blankets and whatever kind of clothes he might have been hiding that voluptuous frame under.

Hold. Hold on. He frowned. What the hell? What the hell. Sure, he had seen his boss’ body before, but could only imagine what it was like under clothes, though he was certain of slender hips and slim muscles, but there was no reason to, to see it for himself. He shook his head, his eyes falling on the sleeping man’s neck, a small, thin, creamy scar peering over his dress shirt. He shook it again, more harshly, and again he stared at that inviting throat, gently moving with motions within deep and mysterious skin, just waiting to be claimed with a sharp and digging bite -

He leaned his head back, inhaled, and exhaled, shaking his shoulders out, slapping his cheeks slightly to snap out of his infectious thoughts. He was getting himself worked up thinking of the malicious, awful, simply delightful slander he was going to spread about the animator. He smiled to himself as he gripped the curve of the mask covering Joey’s face, ready to learn who he was.

Joey stirred slightly as Silvestro was taking the mask off, but he did not wake up. His head turned gently on the pillow, his dark skin streaked by a few fragile looking scars, one on his neck, another on his forehead, and a final one barely noticeable on his lip, fine china patterns on delightful night skin, turning into a sculpture of brown agathae. Silvestro’s mouth went dry as he bit his lower lip, eyes hungrily, predatorily tracing his boss’s features as he breathed heavily, from his blue eyebrows to the tired heavy eyelids and then down, down, down the slope of his nose to reach beautiful full lips that were just begging to be forced open and bitten and left hanging as the soft voice of Joey Drew moaned his na -

**WOMEN.** HE LIKED **WOMEN.** THIS WAS UTTERLY DISGUSTING. GOD, THE _NERVE_ OF THIS MAN. TO SEDUCE HIM EVEN AS HE LAID SLEEPING.

He would have fucking torn him apart. He would have shredded his reputation into confetti, just like he would with his clothes and then fucked him in the a- NO! JUST THE REPUTATION. NOT THE ASS. Mental and social destruction. Not physical. Not physical. No shoving him on his dick for a whole night, keeping him awake and fully aware of his plight. Just slander.

Just slander.

Ok, maybe a bit of ass too - NOOO. Reputation. Only reputation.

Actually you know what? Fuck him. Fuck him hard. Goddamnit, he deserved it, Joey negatively and he positively. He had been denied by every single woman in the bastard’s damn studio (and also was slightly afraid of asking again because last time the manager had nearly killed him, as had the engineer, and the singers, and the writers - damn, every woman nearly sliced his head off, be it with a microphone, saw, or deadly sharp pen, or just… straight up nearly decapitated him with a punch… God that crazy Irish bitch of a manager was scary) and he had been too lazy to actually get himself some company for two whole weeks. If he wanted to get off, this was his chance. It did not even make him gay. He was just taking advantage of a shitty, lowly, handsome piece of fiery hot meat and teaching the pervert a lesson. He could twist the whole story and claim he was forced to do this. Perfect. More slander. All according to plan.

He was so caught up in his inner machinations that he barely noticed a groan (though his skin prickled from it, goosebumps breaking out on his arms), and a rustle, and finally bright, wonderful red eyes opening, still hazy from the long sleep.

And god, those eyes were so gorgeous and alluring, and Silvestro wanted them half lidded and misted over with pleasure and salacity, looking like that at Silvestro as he raked his hands over his sides and pulled away from deep lecherous kisses….

“‘ska…” Johan called, breaking the intruder’s fantasy, his voice like hundreds of star songs, suffocating a yawn, touching his face, silently questioning where and when his mask had vanished from it. “Whu'r’ y’ doin’…?”

Silvestro jumped back, finally aware of what was happening. As red as a bleeding heart robin, he mixed his anger and lust in a big, messy and nasty bomb that began the countdown to its detonation immediately. He undid his tie with haste, positively furious.

Joey’s eyes found him in the room, squinting to recognize him in the late moonlight.

“… ‘vestro?”

“Shut the fuck up.” he hissed in warning, his free hand going to press against Joey’s mouth as fast as he could. “Not a word.”

Johan muffled something, a confused request of explanations maybe, but Silvestro ignored it. He leaned quickly towards the other man’s face while trying to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Look at you,” he sneered. Joey’s eyebrows knitted together in question, so Silvestro took it upon himself to explain, leaning closer, his hand going down to Joey’s neck, feeling and relishing in the sensation of his palm against his beard, pushing on his gullet just enough to keep him from making noise, but giving him just enough air to breathe. Their faces were mere inches apart. “Disgusting. How could you sleep in the same bed as Karpos? You’re such a loser, you know? You make me sick. That’s why you’ll be having me tonight, to learn what it’s really like, to be fucked silly. Won’t you like that, a big fucking dick in your ass? Even if you say you don’t want it? Even if you say it hurts? Even if you tell me, beg me, to stop? You know what that will get you? A good old beating, choking every single little breath out of you - oh, won’t you be trying to scream tonight! You thought Karpos was a beast, you faggot? You thought he fucked you good? God, you have no idea what the hell is in store for you.”

Joey’s eyes were so wide, shocked and confused and hazy with sleep, and yet his chest shook with slight coughs stolen by Silvestro’s pressing hand, his mouth open with the need for air. Silvestro leaned closer, opening his own mouth to taste Joey’s, already thinking of all the delicious flavors and whimpers he’d get from him, their lips brushing for a moment, Silvestro tasting a hint of cinnamon, sugar -

\- and TONK, went his head against an equally hard one.

The headbutt nearly sent him tumbling to the floor. Upon the bed a paranormal silhouette perched up on all fours to shield Johan with the little mass of his skeletal body, the artist gasping feverishly, rubbing at his throat, but looking at Karpos gratefully, and Karpos - Eska, his name was Eska, no matter what his brother insisted on calling him - Eska hissed at him violently like a murderous feline. He couldn’t bare his teeth, for they, much like the rest of his face, were carefully hidden, but those of his mask gave a pretty good idea of how he would have looked.

Silvestro shivered, but his ego didn’t give in: “You fucking animal!” he barked at his twin, and Johan covered his face in fear and shame, “Go jerk off somewhere else! You’ve had your turn!”

“ **EVERY LAST WORD COMING OUT OF YOUR GODFORSAKEN MOUTH IS BUT ANOTHER BRICK PAVING THE ROAD TO YOUR INEVITABLE AND UNSPEAKABLY PAINFUL CANNIBALIZED FRATRICIDE.** ” Eska thundered in response, his deep, raspy, crackling voice tearing at his throat. One of Johan’s hands searched for Eska’s arm to rest on it, trying to keep him calm and grounded.

Silence fell for a couple of minutes. All parties in the attic remained perfectly still, aside from Johan’s trembling hand on Eska’s arm, and Silvestro felt a pang of envy, but it was quickly quenched by the recalling of his brother’s terrifying words.

Finally, Silvestro’s voice rose, horrified: “Since when are you capable of complex thought?”

“ **SINCE EAT SHIT AND DIE, YOU FUCKING BASTARD.** ”

“Good point, Eska,” Joey rasped, coughing slightly. “Silvestro, you’re fired.”

The man stared at him with his blue eyes open wide. Never, not once, never before had someone had the gall, the audacity, the sheer rudeness to fire him. It… scared him, not that he would let that be known. He spat on the floor.

“Bullshit!” he screamed. He scrambled back onto his legs: “BULLSHIT!” he yelled again, a bit of drool dribbling down his chin, as if cursing a second time would have helped prove a point which he had not specified. He lunged at Johan’s throat with hands like claws, ready to tear him apart and bend him to his own will, completely forgetting Eska until he was being pummeled into the floor by his twin once again. He felt as if the realization of just how strong Eska could be had hit him as hard as his head had crashed into the pavement.

Johan shouted something, he could not exactly tell what, something in fear and worry - and then his mouth was agape and the air in his lungs was gone. He kicked his brother back as best as he could, screaming his head off, there were rushing footsteps from below, and he could hazily sense Johan running toward the door to pull it back into place from where Silvestro had leaned it against the wall, shouting that everything was under control. Silvestro felt his arm getting wetter and wetter, hurting like hell for no reason, no reason at all, he simply couldn’t get it, had that bastard bit him, had he fucking dared biting him hard enough to make him bleed, but it wasn’t on his arm or forearm because he could feel it all dripping all over, was it on his palm, he had to check, he had to run his fingers over it, his fingers, fingers, fin… Fingers…

He choked on his gag reflex.

Silvestro looked up at his brother, shaking like a leaf.

Eska stared back at him. His breath was even through his occupied teeth.

“Eska!” Johan shrieked, petrified. “O-oh god, oh no….”

Questions were shouted from behind the door Johan was holding shut.

“Good god!” Joey barked, his voice raspy and authoritative. Silence fell. “I have this under control, go to work or there’ll be hell to pay!”

The crowd that had gathered by the closed door ebbed away.

The man took a few gasping breaths, closing his eyes for a moment, then leaned off the wall, walking over, cane in hand, assisting his weary footfalls, head held high, looking down at Silvestro from his great height in heaven.

The gears in his head turned rapidly, and Silvestro could see a burning wisdom within those eyes, bright, blazing, compassionate and gentle. The eyes of a god. He could see judgement and repentance in those eyes.

“Silvestro, I have three things that I can do with you,” he spoke so softly, like the final judge of everything that ever was. “One, I can kill you, seeing as you clearly planned to sell me out.” (Silvestro’s eyes were as wide as a small child’s in front of something far greater than himself. They were scared, and shocked, and pleading.) “But I don’t want to. No, I can’t. I’m no executioner. Two, I can wipe your memory, completely and totally. Or three, we can work together, and swear you to secrecy; magically, in a way you would never be able to speak of this ever again, except with those I deign allowed. The choice is yours, but if you pick the first option, I will do the second.”

Silvestro looked up at the man, and saw compassion and care in his exhausted eyes.

He made his choice.

* * *

Silvestro had called in beforehand. They had arranged the meeting, the day, the hour, the place. Disney sat in the armchair of a hotel room, sipping a glass of liquor, ignoring all laws, being the rule breaker he was. Fleischer was standing and looking out the window restlessly, silently contemptuous of the alcohol in Disney’s hand, resisting the urge to slap it out of his hand or chew at his nails. There was no reason to be nervous, Disney thought to himself. Silvestro was such an unscrupulous man, he would have gotten all kinds of information on the menace that was Joey Drew, one morally and legally ambiguous way or another. With that narcissistic diva at the job, they were in safe hands.

Two quick knocks got the two business mens’ attention. They were fast and nervous. Tock-tock, followed by silence.

Far too uncharacteristic. Disney and Fleischer exchanged a glance.

“Mr. Agnes?” Fleischer called, moving from the window. “That you?”

A deep inhale, a bit fearful, maybe. 

“Yes.” Silvestro’s voice answered. “It’s. Me.”

“Come in.”

The man who came through the door was indeed Silvestro Agnes… but something was oddly off. He had the same dark auburn hair and the same light cinnamon skin. Actually, Disney noticed, slightly confused, it was too light a shade of cinnamon. He was very pale, and he appeared to be shaking. His back was hunched forward, his shoulders closing in on his chest. His eyes were concentrated on the ground, terrified. Everything about him - his movements, his looks, his demeanor - chronically lacked the superb disgust towards everyone else which he had constantly displayed throughout his life.

He closed the door behind him and simply stood. His head bent a little downwards, nearly shameful. He did not say a single word.

“Well?” Disney encouraged him, though was somewhat… anxious of what the reply could be, “What do you have for us?”

No answer.

And Disney might have pressed further, if Fleischer had not risen his eyes above the trembling man before them and let out a horrified “Jesus Christ!” as he almost fell on the floor, leaping backwards in what could be described only as pure terror. Disney’s attention went first to his partner in crime, then to the silent Agnes, then behind him. And while he did not shout, his jaw and eyes fell open wide.

He could not have understood how he did not notice it. A giant dirty skeleton dressed in tight skin and enormous clothes, towering over Silvestro’s head. Hairs so thin they might have been made out of beams of light surrounded a naked skull in a dirty, brown and reddish halo, a pair of lone will-o’-the-wisps standing perfectly still deep in the recesses of empty eye sockets, to lead the wicked away to their just slaughter. Despite its hunched back, it was still taller than the doorframe; Disney would have bet it had just phased through solid matter like a ghost.

“Joey Drew knows you.” the skeleton said. The jaw did not move; a deep, crackling, croaking voice seemed to come directly from the depths of the earth. “Knows you well. Wiser than you.”

Fleischer and Disney were frozen in place. They did not dare breathe a breath, a sound, a word. They did not even know if they could.

The skeleton leaned towards them, Silvestro lowering with it, trembling as he tried to keep it from touching him - almost as if mere contact might have killed him. The voice grumbled from behind the skull once more, slowly and carefully articulating every word: “He will not have any of your threats. None. Not one.”

Those wild irises glowed without emitting the faintest hint of light. Demonic. Did Joey create the thing before them? Bendy was, after all, a demon. So was this as well?

“Your flesh tastes no worse than anyone else’s.” it advised, and Fleischer could imagine a macabre grin behind the skeletal mask. “I promise you that.”

The businessmen did not respond. They did not know how to respond. How could they? How could they have known, what exorcism would they have screamed? What can one say after being presented with a threat that implies the horrifying supernatural being currently standing in front of you has had a bite of your kind before, and maybe even more than one?

The skeleton’s long fingers slowly crept up Silvestro’s shoulder and closed their iron grip on it, making the man shiver harshly and attempt to mute a cry of pain under the pressure as his arms jolted upwards. His hand clawed at the air, missing the stump of the other arm’s wrist as if there had been something attached to it.

Disney paled as he noticed that.

“H-he says it’s a m-message,” Silvestro managed to say through chattering teeth and blurred vision, silently wishing the pain go away. Eska gave a drooping nod, too boneless, too bony. His voice added to the words, “So heed it.”

Eska decided he had already said a frankly excessive amount of words for today, so he thought it well not to allow a single one more to be spoken. He only turned slightly, dragging his twin with him in a silent yet angered order, hand still on his shoulder possessively as though Joey deigned him reign over his brother, and then they were both gone. Out of the room, out of the hallway, out of the building entirely (standing on the sidewalk, staring at each other with empty eyes on one part and a sinking fear on the other, strangers to everything about the person they were looking at, not even brushing against one another as the taller figure dragged his feet away, slowly, rhythmically, and his brother just stood, waiting for something before quickly heading home), leaving Fleischer and Disney stunned, fearful and less than inclined to try and disturb Mr. Drew again.


End file.
